Vinesauce, Jerma and Criken’s “One Word Story” from 2018

Behold centuries of thrust. Nothing stoppin’, nothin’ ya bum. Long have I pondered life’s mysteries. The reason I thrust establishes generations of children. Procreation, masturbation, sensation, Woohoo! Why are you beholden my dick?! Busting rhymes, doing crimes forever. That’s no way to live prehistorically. Time keeps turnin’, mimes keeps yearning for freedom. Eternally screaming in desperate futility. Thirst quenching, burst clenching, gripping my forty-five. Click-clack, break yourself piece of that kit-kat bars, motherfucker. Money, money, ain’t it dumb, money, money, get you money, please help me get money, honey bunny. Thenceforth hereby, I require copious money to pay taxes. Fraud prevention, broad intention extension, Woohoo! Time freeze when I sneezes. Achoo! Where the road leadses. “Turn around now! I forgot my pen is huge, can’t fit in my breast-pocket.” Nathadniel me. Dinosaur brain small. Nathadniel smash pen breast-pocket. Give Nathadniel storage so me forage for shiny forty-five. Bust if you thrust, trust you gut.


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